rence at my feet,
cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend."

So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a
fresh place. Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty
countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot
her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of
an impassive unimpressionable American. Florence soon forgot one whom
she had been proud to know and honor.

Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite
nook--the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been
enacted--she was found by the Prince di Borgezi. Every one had said
that sooner or later it would come to this. Prince di Borgezi, the
most fastidious of men, who had admired many women but loved none,
whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved Valentine Charteris. Her
fair English face, with its calm, grand beauty, her graceful dignity,
her noble mind and pure soul had captivated him. For many long weeks
he hovered round Valentine, longing yet dreading to speak the words
which would unite or part them for life.

Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter
intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon knowing
his fate. He sought Valentine, and found her seated under the shade of
her favorite trees.

"Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have come
to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can confer on any
man."

"What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling
request.

"Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen Guinevere'," he
replied; "that picture is more to me than all that I possess. Only one
thing is dearer, the original. May I ever hope to make that mine also?"

Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an offer of
marriage then that he was making.

"Have you no word for me, Miss Charteris?" he said. "I lay my life and
my love at your feet. Have you no word for me?"

"I really do not know what to say," replied Valentine.

"You do not refuse me?" said her lover.

"Well, no," replied Valentine.

"And you do not accept me?" he continued.

"Decidedly not," she replied, more firmly.

"Then I shall consider there is some ground for hope," he said.

Valentine had recovered her self-possession. Her lover gazed anxiously
at her beautiful face, its proud calm was unbroken.

"I will tell you how it